Chapter 2 Abbie
ABBIE
"I was going to tell you," Gray says, which is the kind of sentence that never precedes anything good.
"When?" I'm still sitting on the stool, feet now firmly on the floor, watching Delaney hover near the kitchen counter like she owns the place. She's examining our espresso machine with performative interest.
"Today. This morning, actually, before I got distracted by the eggs."
"You're blaming the eggs?"
"I'm not blaming anything. I'm just explaining—"
"Gray." I hold up a hand. "Why is my sister your executive assistant? I thought she was working in the PR department."
"She was. She's been promoted."
"To executive assistant." I let the words sit there, flat and heavy. "To you. Personally."
"It's temporary." He's using his reasonable voice now, the one he uses in negotiations. "The Lisbon situation is complicated, and I need someone who can handle the coordination between the teams, and Delaney's been doing incredible work—"
"I helped get her that job." It lands harder than I mean it to, but I don't take it back. "I vouched for her. I specifically told you that if she caused any problems, you had my full permission to fire her."
"And she hasn't caused any problems. She's been exceptional, actually."
Delaney makes a small pleased sound from her spot by the espresso machine. I want to throw something at her.
"She's standing right here," I point out.
"I can leave," Delaney offers, in a tone that suggests she has absolutely no intention of leaving. "If you need to discuss this privately."
"You have a key to my house. Where would you even go?"
"I could wait in the car."
"Why do you have a key to my house?"
"I just said, for emergencies."
"What emergency, specifically?"
Delaney shrugs one elegant shoulder. "You know. If something happens. If you need someone to check on things while you're traveling."
"I don't travel. Gray travels. I stay here, in my house, which you now apparently have access to."
"Abbie." Gray's hand lands on my arm, gentle but firm. "Can we talk about this? Just us?"
I look at Delaney. She's watching us with bright interested eyes, like we're a show she's enjoying.
"Fine," I say. "Yes. Let's talk."
Delaney leaves with a warm smile for Gray. I wait until her car starts before turning to him.
"You should have told me."
"I know."
"Before you made the decision. Not after. Not sprung on me this morning like a surprise."
"You're right." He drags a hand down his face, leaving his hair even more disheveled than it already was. "I meant to. It just happened fast, and I was trying to solve a problem, and—"
"What problem?"
"Your mother." He says it like it explains everything, and honestly, it kind of does.
Constance Montgomery has been pressuring Gray about the family dynasty for years, about legacy, about image, about the specific way Montgomerys are supposed to present themselves to the world.
"She's been on me about Delaney. About giving her more opportunities at VTG.
About how it looks that your sister is stuck in middle management while you're—"
"While I'm what?"
"While you're leading the creative division."
"Which I built. From nothing."
"I know that. You know I know that." He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it, because despite everything I still want him to touch me. "But your mother sees it differently. She sees nepotism, and she sees favoritism, and she thinks giving Delaney a visible role will balance things out."
"So you promoted my sister to be your personal assistant because my mother told you to?"
"I promoted her because it solves multiple problems at once. It gets your mother off my back. It gives Delaney experience that'll help her career. And it means I have someone handling logistics in Lisbon who actually knows the family, who can navigate the—"
"Who can navigate what?"
He stops. A careful, unreadable expression flickers across his face.
"The relationships," he finishes. "The Montgomery connections in Europe. Your father has hotel partnerships with half the people I'm meeting with."
"I could have helped with that."
"You hate dealing with your father's business."
"I hate it less than I hate this."
We stare across the kitchen island.
"I don't like it," I say finally. "I want that on the record. I don't like that she's going to be with you constantly, handling your schedule, knowing everything about your day. I don't like that she has a key to my house. I don't like any of this."
"I hear you."
"Do you? Because you made this decision without me, Gray. You gave my sister access to every part of your life without asking how I felt about it."
"It's just work."
"Is it? Because the last time Delaney got involved in something of mine, it didn't feel like 'just' anything.
" I pull my hand back from his. "She broke up my college relationship by telling Jonah I was sleeping with his roommate.
She told my mother about the internship I took without permission.
Every time I let her close to something I care about, she finds a way to—"
"I'm not Jonah. Or an internship."
"No. You're my husband. Which makes it worse."
Gray is quiet for a moment. Then he steps around the island and pulls me off the stool, wrapping me in his arms even though I don't entirely want to be wrapped.
"It's temporary," he says into my hair. "A few months, max. Once the expansion is done, she goes back to her regular position and everything returns to normal."
"You promise?"
"I swear it," he says into my hair, and I almost believe him.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER
I wake up at one in the morning to voices in the kitchen.
I sit up at the sound of Gray’s laugh downstairs. The space beside me is empty. The sheets on his side are cold. I pull on my robe and follow the voices to the kitchen.
"Think the Thursday timeline works better anyway," Gray is saying. "It gives us more flexibility with the venue."
"I already called them. They're moving the dinner to Friday, which means we need to adjust the whole—"
I step into the kitchen doorway. Gray sits shirtless at the island, laptop open, papers spread around him. Delaney curls her legs beneath her on the next stool. She's wearing my hoodie.
My oversized gray VTG hoodie. The one he gave me when we started dating.
"What the fuck."
They both jump. Gray's elbow catches a stack of papers and sends them scattering. Delaney's coffee mug tips and splashes dark liquid across the counter.
"Abbie—" Gray starts.
"What are you doing?" I'm staring at Delaney, at my hoodie wrapped around her body. "Is that my hoodie? What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen at one in the morning wearing my clothes?"
"We were just going over the Lisbon itinerary," Delaney says, in that calm reasonable voice that makes me want to scream. "I got cold—"
"That's my hoodie."
"Gray handed it to me. I didn't realize it was sacred."
She pulls it off slowly, making a performance of it, her silk tank top showing underneath.
"Abbie, I didn't—" Gray is standing up, moving toward me. He knocks over a stool in his haste and it crashes to the floor. "I just grabbed the first thing in the laundry basket. I wasn't looking."
"Why is she here at one in the morning?"
"We're leaving this morning. There's a lot to coordinate."
"In the middle of the night? In our kitchen?"
"It got late. We lost track of time."
Her expression is apologetic but there's satisfaction underneath it, a look almost like victory.
"You should go," I tell her.
"Abbie—"
"Now."
He walks her to the door. When he returns, I’m still staring at the hoodie on the counter.
"I'm sorry. I really didn't realize it was that hoodie."
"You gave it to me."
"I know."
"Our third date. You said you wanted me to have something of yours."
"I know, Abbie. I remember."
"Then how could you not recognize it?"
"It was in the laundry basket. I just grabbed... I wasn't thinking."
"No. You weren't." I pick up the hoodie. It smells different now, like Delaney's perfume, like a stranger. "You weren't thinking about anything except work."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it? Gray, it's one in the morning. My sister was curled up in our kitchen wearing my clothes. And you handed them to her."
"She got cold. I was being polite."
"You were being oblivious."
"Okay, I hear you. I should have grabbed something else. I should have noticed."
"It's not just the hoodie."
"Then tell me what it is."
"It's... It's the key. It's the job. It's her being here at one in the morning like she belongs here, and you not seeing anything wrong with that."
"She works for me. Sometimes work runs late."
"Work runs late at the office. Work doesn't run late in my kitchen in the middle of the night."
"I'll buy you a new one," he says finally. "A dozen new ones. I'll get them custom made with—"
"I don't want a new one."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want you to understand why this matters!"
"I'm trying," he says quietly. "I know you and Delaney have history. I know it's complicated."
"This isn't about history. This is about boundaries. This is about our space."
"Our space is fine."
"Our space has my sister in it at one in the morning!"
"Because of work!"
"Because you let her in! You gave her a key. You gave her access to your schedule, your life, everything. And now she's here, in our kitchen, in my clothes, and you're looking at me like I'm the unreasonable one."
"I'm not... I don't think you're unreasonable. I think you're upset, and I'm trying to fix it."
"You can't fix it by buying me a new hoodie."
"Then tell me how to fix it."
"I'm going to wash this," I say, holding up the hoodie. "Twice. And then I'm putting it somewhere she can't find it."
"Abbie—"
"And I want the key back."
"She already left. I’ll get it before the car comes."
"Then before you leave. I want it back."
Gray nods, exhausted and sorry. Sorry for the wrong thing.
"Come back to bed?" he asks.
I’m too tired to keep fighting.
"Fine."
In bed, he wraps himself around me, arm across my stomach, face in my neck. "I'm sorry about the hoodie," he murmurs against my skin.
"I know."
"I'll make it right."
"Okay."
Within minutes his breathing slows. I lie awake while the hoodie turns in the washing machine.
I don't sleep.